


forgive us our trespasses

by besselfcn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Anxiety, Blackwatch Era, Implied/Referenced Past Gabe/Ana and Gabe/Jack, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Issues, Transphobia mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/pseuds/besselfcn
Summary: “Whatever you say, boss.”It used to make him wince, that word. When this first started, when he first pulled Jesse into a closet after a mission where they both still had blood on their collars and he’d saidnot a fucking word, McCreeand Jesse had, for once in his life, obliged. He hadn’t been able to look Jesse in the eye for days; Jack, for weeks. He’d felt--predatory.Now, though. Now it felt dangerous, but worth it. Dangerous, like a firefight. Dangerous, like the edge of a cliff. Like he’s got a parachute but he doesn’t know whether he’ll open it.





	forgive us our trespasses

Jesse feels--

He feels _hot_ ; like everywhere Gabriel touches is burning; like Gabriel’s about to melt with his hands on Jesse’s thighs and his mouth between Jesse’s legs. Not like the heat of summer ( _Ana_ ) or the heat of a wildfire ( _Jack_ ) but the heat of the barrel of a gun, just after it’s been fired, the metal still blisteringly hot from the previous round ( _Jesse, Jesse, Jesse_ )--

“Gabriel,” Jesse gasps, and when he grinds down Gabriel grabs up at his thighs, hungry. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” and _bam, bam, bam_ , his fist punching the headboard as he shudders, groan starting low in his chest and building to a high that Gabriel chases with vigor.

_Come on_ , Gabriel thinks, and he feels laser-focused, the same adrenaline he feels when he’s lining up a shot, and maybe that should make him worried and maybe it would but all he can think of is Jesse, the heady taste of him, the way his thighs tighten around Gabriel’s ears, and _come on_ , he thinks, his fingers digging bruises into Jesse’s thighs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jesse says one last time, sharp and clipped, and he jerks once and Gabriel feels the orgasm ricochet through him, his head tilted back, fingers gripping the headboard, Gabriel holding him steady and firm against his mouth as he rides it out.

When Jesse’s done he practically falls off the damn bed, boneless.

“God damn,” Jesse laughs as Gabriel pulls him back steady against Gabriel’s left side. He shuffles around until he’s laid down with his head on Gabriel’s shoulder, arm draped lazily over Gabriel’s chest. “You know how to treat a fella, don’tcha.”

Gabriel chuckles. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then wipes that on the sheets.

“How about you?” Jesse asks, nodding towards Gabe’s cock; it’s been standing at attention for the majority of their session. Jesse runs his fingers up Gabe’s thigh. “Dunno if I can match your skill, but I can certainly try.”

Gabe swats his hand away, gentle but firm. “No thanks,” he says, pulling Jesse in closer for a kiss (a distraction, an escape). “Not tonight.”

Jesse gives him a _look_ , but he doesn’t ask.

(Jesse rarely asks. He is, (a), a sharp kid, and (b), intimately familiar with keeping some parts of your life between you and God. He knows, with an alacrity that frightens Gabriel sometimes, which pieces of Gabriel’s life are off-limits to him. Sometimes Gabriel thinks Jesse could piece him together after all, just from the negative space.)

“Not worth the trouble,” Gabriel says, as half an explanation, and Jesse looks like he might protest but he settles his head into Gabriel’s chest instead.

“Alright,” he shrugs, and closes his eyes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

It used to make him wince, that word. When this first started, when he first pulled Jesse into a closet after a mission where they both still had blood on their collars and he’d said _not a fucking word, McCree_ and Jesse had, for once in his life, obliged. He hadn’t been able to look Jesse in the eye for days; Jack, for _weeks_. He’d felt--predatory.

Now, though. Now it felt dangerous, but _worth_ it. Dangerous, like a firefight. Dangerous, like the edge of a cliff. Like he’s got a parachute but he doesn’t know whether he’ll open it.

He runs his fingers down the smooth expanse of Jesse’s back. There’s scars peppered through it, sure, but the skin itself is soft, almost silken to the touch. And still so god damn warm.

“What’re you thinkin’ about,” Jesse murmurs. He sounds like he’s half asleep; always does, after he comes. Once, twice, five times. Always gets the same blissed-out tone of voice, with just enough edge to keep Gabriel on his toes.

He thinks whether to answer honestly. Whether it really matters if he tries to lie.

“You’re nineteen,” Gabriel says finally.

“Hmm,” Jesse scoffs. “Old man can count.”

“He can,” Gabe says. He presses a kiss into Jesse’s hair, fingers still tracing his spine. “Real young to be caught up in a thing like Blackwatch.”

“An’ whose fault is that.”

“Mine.”

Never any point not owning up to that.

Jesse makes a motion like he’s about to sit up, turn to face Gabriel and start arguing; Gabriel keeps a firm hand on his shoulder, and Jesse lays back down. Bristling, though.

“You know I’m teasing,” he says, mouth against Gabriel’s chest.

“I know.”

“Don’t sound like you know.”

“I do know.”

“ _Eres un mal mentiroso_.”

Gabriel laughs at that, a real, full-bellied laugh. “ _Eres un mal hispanohablante_.”

“ _Que te jodan_.”

“ _Ah, eso sí sabes decirlo_.”

_God_ , Jesse’s Spanish is bad--grammar’s passable but the accent’s slipped, he can tell, slowly edged out by that southern drawl the kid nurses. He tries, though; knows Gabriel thinks it’s endearing. Pathetic. One of the two.

“You’re a bully, is what you are,” Jesse huffs. He shifts a little; getting settled. Comfortable.

Gabe doesn’t answer. He runs his hand up Jesse’s back, across the shoulder, down to the awful, gaudy tattoo on his forearm. Stupid thing for a stupid kid.

His own tattoo is hidden under Jesse’s head, at the moment. Inconspicuous little marks, **011000**. Maybe equally stupid thing, for an equally stupid kid.

And here’s where he feels it most, really, that gulf between him and Jesse. Here in bed, tracing the outlines of Jesse’s tattoos, the scars he got in Deadlock, the soft curve of his hips where he’s still, inexplicably, boyish and youthful.  

Twenty-one years of life, between them--with so much shit packed into Gabriel’s that he barely remembers what it felt like, being 19. It was--Jesus, it was _before_ , that he was Jesse’s age. Different fucking world.

Maybe he does remember it. Maybe it’s too hard to look at it too long, without it burning his eyes.

“Hey,” Jesse murmurs, and spreads his hand across Gabriel’s ribs. Gabriel realizes his breathing’s sped up. “You alright there, boss?”

“Mm,” Gabriel grunts, which isn’t an answer and Jesse knows it.

This time Jesse manages to sit up, look at Gabriel before he can put a hand over Jesse’s arm and smooth him down again. “Hey,” Jesse says again. “Don’t get all sentimental on me, alright? I’m tryin’ to enjoy the post-coital bliss.”

“Don’t let an anxious old man stop you,” Gabriel says--but it’s too late for that, isn’t it, Jesse’s already frowning with those sad puppy-dog eyes of his.

“You don’t gotta be so damn guilty about this every time,” Jesse snaps, and Gabe’s not even spoken before he continues, “No, shut your mouth, you are. You fuckin’ flagellate yourself over this every time, and why?”

“Jesse,” Gabriel says, but he’s already lost hold of it, can feel it spinning out of control, feel the heat building in Jesse’s voice.

“‘Cause you’re my boss?”

Gabe reaches out; Jesse pulls away. “No, that’s not--”

“‘Cause I’m young?”

“No, it’s not that _simple_ , listen--”

“Cause I’m a man? ‘Cause I don’t have a cock?”

“ _No_ \--Jesse, _Jesus_ , no, that’s _not_ \--”

“Then fuck is it, Gabe, cause I’m at a damn loss--”

“Y _ou deserve better, Jesse_.”

The air leaves them both, in horrible synchronicity.

“Than what,” Jesse asks, flat, voice wavering. “Than you?”

“Than me,” Gabriel agrees, slow. “Than Blackwatch. Than _this_ \--” and he gestures around the room, to the bed, to the two of them, “--god damn life I’ve fed you.”

“You think I don’t want this?” Jesse says, and it’s a cooling fury now, into confusion, into something almost like _hurt_.

“Who the fuck _would_ ,” Gabriel laughs, and it’s his turn to stop Jesse before he can speak. “No, seriously, who the fuck would want this, Jesse? You think you do, just cause I took you out of a shithole and put you in a shithole with better pay and a roof over your head?”

“Real fuckin’ bold of you, assumin’ you know what I want--”

“And you want me, right,” Gabe snaps. “You want me, cause you like me, cause you think you like me. Fuck, Jesse. Like I ever give you a choice.”

“Fuck yourself.”

“Cause this is what every nineteen-year-old wants, isn’t it. Life-or-death job for peanuts. Fucking their boss who’s gonna tell them to go put themselves on the field to maybe die tomorrow. Some fucked-up relationship with a forty-year-old science experiment who can barely get off on a good day so he’ll let you fuck his mouth ‘til maybe you forget you could fuck any kid your own age, anyone in _general_ , who you could actually have a normal god damn sex life with.”

Gabe’s breathing hard, his head swimming, his chest tight, and Jesse’s--silent. His face searches Gabriel’s; and it’s piercing, that look, like a hot poker through flesh. Gabe melts, under it. Or he wants to. He wishes.

“You done hating yourself now so I can sleep?” Jesse says, his hand braced on Gabriel’s chest.

Gabriel breathes, and he feels his lungs shudder with the effort. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out as a whisper. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“Good,” Jesse says.

He lowers himself back down to Gabriel’s chest, and Gabriel runs his fingers through the kid’s hair; soft, the kind of gentleness he forgot he had, the kind of warmth that doesn’t burn.

“Good lord,” Jesse mutters, face turned away, cheek pressed against Gabriel’s skin. “Can really tell sometimes you were raised Catholic.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Many thanks to possum for the translations. [And yes, Jesse's isn't quite right.]
> 
> 2\. The concept of Gabe having a hard time getting off is directly from [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10885824) by [crookedfingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers/pseuds/crookedfingers), arguably my favorite R76 author. (I'm a multishipper, what can I say.)
> 
> 3\. If you enjoyed this, please do let me know, here or on [tumblr](https://besselfcn.tumblr.com/)! :D


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